Underground
by Cissmoll
Summary: AU. Dr. Hope Estheim has for over a year had to repeatedly patch up a girl named Claire Farron, who keeps insisting she "tripped" or "accidentally walked into a door". A bit of research leads Dr. Estheim to an underground fighting organization and a notorious street fighter called Lightning.
1. Chapter 1

"Dr. Estheim? The Farron sisters are here again."

Hope Estheim M.D. let out a deep sigh and closed the journal he'd been working on. "How bad is it this time?"

"Not as bad as the last time, worse than the time before that," the nurse responded. "Nothing life threatening, but she will need some stitches. They're in the examination room in the basement as usual."

"I'll be right there. " Hope took off his reading glasses and placed them on top of the journal. "Don't tell anyone."

"I know, I know," the nurse said, rolling his eyes. "I don't know why you keep doing this. She's pretty, yes, but giving her free medical treatment like this is just postponing the unavoidable-"

"The unavoidable?" Hope interrupted, giving the nurse an icy glare. "Giving her free treatment like this is the only way I can make sure she gets medical attention after doing whatever the hell it is she does. If I didn't, her blood would be on my hands. Yours too, for that matter."

The nurse sighed, shaking his head. "You can't save everybody."

Hope stood up and pushed past the nurse, leaving his office behind him. "I can try."

* * *

"We shouldn't have come here," Claire muttered to her sister. "It's not even that bad. I could have taped it up myself."

The sisters were curled up next to each other on an unmade hospital bed placed in the middle of the hospital basement's abandoned examination room. The room was illuminated by a single flickering fluorescent lamp, giving the room an eerie, greenish glow.

"Do I need to remind you what happens if I remove this towel?" Serah snapped, nodding at the once white piece of fabric pressed against Claire's forehead. "Blood fountain, that's what happens. You need stitches, and you're not doing them by yourself again."

"I don't like depending on other people's favors," Claire grumbled.

"As long as you keep doing this, we don't have a choice."

"I could-"

"No, you could _not _just do the stitches yourself," Serah interrupted angrily. "Do you seriously not remember what happened the last time?"

"Of course I remember. It's not like I can forget it." Claire absentmindedly touched the scar covering the majority of her left underarm. The wound hadn't been that bad to begin with, but Claire's homemade stitches had caused a nasty infection – an infection that had forced her to go to the hospital anyway. _It's been over a year since that night, _Claire suddenly realized. _He's been helping me for over a year now, and I still don't know why he does it. _

Serah looked at her sister with worry and weariness in her eyes. "I just wish you would stop."

Claire scoffed humorlessly. "It's too late for that now. You know that."

The sound of rapid footsteps reached the room. A silver-haired man entered the room and closed the door behind him.

"So, what's your excuse this time?" Dr. Estheim asked, giving her a quick look over.

"I fell down the stairs to our apartment," Claire deadpanned.

"Of course you did," Dr. Estheim sighed. "Let me take a look."

This was the part Claire always dreaded the most. She took off her hoodie and the brown tank top beneath it, and then slipped out of her sweat pants. Dressed in nothing but panties and a sports bra she stood in front of the doctor, shivering a little in the basement's chilly air. Even though she knew Dr. Estheim was a professional and didn't look at her _that _way, he was still a handsome man and she was… _Like this, _she thought, fixing her gaze on the ground. She hated showing people her way too skinny body and all the scars covering her skin. The old ones were ugly, and the newer ones were full-on repulsive. She crossed her arms, trying to discretely cover up the worst of them. _I'm disgusting. _

"Fuck, Claire, you didn't show me that one." Serah nodded at the wound on the side of her stomach, reaching all the way from her hip bone to her lower ribs.

"It's just a scrape," Claire said, still avoiding eye contact with both persons in the room. "It looks worse than it really is."

"It's a third-degree abrasion and there's a lot of debris in it," Dr. Estheim said after looking at the injury. "I will have to clean it, and it will hurt. Is there anything else I should look at?" He aimed his question at Serah. He'd stopped trusting Claire's judgment when it came to injuries from the very beginning of their arrangement, when she'd tried to brush off a broken collarbone as "just a bruise".

"I think she may have some broken ribs," Serah answered. "I think I heard a crack when she, uh, hit the ground. After falling down the stairs. And then there's the forehead. And the knees." Serah fiddled nervously with her pale pink hair.

"Always the knees… Alright. Claire, does it hurt when you breathe?" Dr. Estheim asked, pulling out his stethoscope.

"A little," Claire admitted reluctantly.

"Alright," he repeated. "Sit down and let me hear you take a deep breath." Claire did as he said, trying not to flinch when he placed the cold stethoscope on her chest.

"Your lungs are fine," Dr. Estheim stated after a couple of breaths. "I'm going to touch your ribs now, is that okay?"

Claire nodded, tensing up when his hands connected with her skin. Dr. Estheim would always ask for permission before touching her, probably because of the time she'd almost sucker-punched him in the face for touching her when she wasn't expecting it. She appreciated the gesture.

Dr. Estheim placed his hands right below her armpits and let them wander downwards, examining rib by rib. Claire gasped audibly when he reached the injured one.

"That's a fracture," Dr. Estheim confirmed. "It's nothing serious, but you'll have to take it easy for six to eight weeks for it to heal."

"I will," Claire said, even though all three of them knew it was a lie. She would return before the end of the month with new wounds, just like always. Dr. Estheim would patch her up and send her home, just like always. And then, Claire would feel like shit for once again taking advantage of an altruistic doctor with a god complex, just like always.

* * *

"I wish you'd tell me what's really going on," Hope said, removing a small piece of glass from the abrasion on the girl's hip. She didn't even flinch. The way Claire reacted to pain – or the way she _didn't_ react to it – worried him. _Who the hell is doing this to her? _he wondered for the thousandth time. He knew the Farron sisters were orphans, so it couldn't be her parents. _A boyfriend…? _

"Why?" Claire suddenly asked.

Hope paused for a moment, surprised by her question. He'd expressed the wish to hear the real story behind her injuries several times before, but Claire had always remained silent. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you care?"

Hope looked up from the wound, meeting the girl's eyes. Usually, she'd look away immediately, but now she actually met his gaze. In her eyes he could see a lot of skepticism and distrust, but also bit of honest curiosity.

Hope hesitated. _Why am I doing this? _he silently asked himself. He couldn't come up with an answer. Claire was looking at him expectantly, and her curiosity made her normally expressionless face look sweeter and less intimidating. The cuts and bruises on her face somehow exaggerated the bright blue color of her eyes. _She really is pretty._

"I'm a doctor. It's my job to care," Hope finally responded halfheartedly.

"Right." Claire looked away again, returning to her usual apathetic mode.

"Wrong answer?" Hope asked, even though he knew he wouldn't get anything more from Claire. She'd shut him out again, and it saddened him more than he thought it would. _Why do I care? _he asked himself again. Still no answer.

With three new stitches on her forehead and a couple of new bandages, Claire was finally ready to go.

"Thank you so much for doing this," Serah said, clasping Hope's hands in hers. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

"I'm just doing my job," Hope said with a smile. "And Claire?" he added, his smile fading as he turned to the older sister. "Please be careful. Your seventh rib is fractured, and you really do need to rest. Serah has my number, so please call if you need me."

"I will," Claire said, just like she always did after their hospital visits. "Thank you."

Claire turned around to open the door, but Hope, against better judgment, grabbed the sleeve of her hoodie. Claire's reaction was instantaneous, and she moved faster than he'd thought was humanly possible. Before he could retract his hand, Claire had turned around, pushed him against the wall and pressed her forearm against his throat.

"Sis! Stop it!" Serah yelled.

Claire snapped out of her craze and scrambled away from Hope, almost tripping over her own feet. "I'm so sorry," she said, looking younger and frailer than he'd ever seen her before. "I didn't mean to… Dr. Estheim, I'm so sorry."

Hope coughed and cleared his throat. "It's okay," he said when his vocal cords decided to work again. "It's okay. I shouldn't have done that. It's okay." His words seemed to calm her, and he suddenly found himself wanting to wrap the girl in a blanket, give her a cup of tea and tell her 'everything will be okay'. He also realized that she would probably kick his ass if he tried, so instead he finally asked the question he'd been postponing for over a year.

"Claire, I have to ask… Is someone abusing you? I've kept my promise; I haven't contacted the police or any other authorities. I just… Please, I just want to know."

"Abusing me?" Claire looked at him in disbelief.

"Your injuries keep getting worse. Are you in an abusive relationship? Do you need help?" He stopped himself when he saw Claire's lips twitch.

"No, I'm not in an abusive relationship. Well, not in the way you think, anyway." There was a hint of amusement in her voice, like everything was part of a joke he didn't quite get. He tried to make eye contact with Serah, but she quickly turned away and hurried out of the room.

"If I needed help, I'd ask for it," Claire continued with a sober matter-of-fact voice. "Right now, the only help I need is for someone to give me stitches every once in a while. I'm very grateful for your work, Dr. Estheim. I don't think anyone has ever cared about me as much as you."

"I…" Hope didn't know what to say. Never before had Claire uttered so many words in a row in his presence. Hell, he couldn't even remember if he'd ever heard her speak in proper sentences before. "… Please, call me Hope."

"Hope, huh," Claire said, more to herself than to him. "How suitable." She walked towards the door again, and this time Hope was too perplexed to stop her. She cast him a quick glance over her shoulder, and this time Hope was sure – the twitch of her lips was the beginning of a smirk. "You think _my_ injuries are getting worse? You should see the other guys'."

With those words, Claire walked through the door, leaving a speechless Hope behind her in the abandoned examination room. He stood there for a while, trying to figure out what the hell just happened, and then pulled out his cellphone from a pocket in his lab coat.

"Hey Noel? It's Hope. Yeah, Hope Estheim. I need a favor… You don't happen to know anything about underground street fighting?"


	2. Chapter 2

Never before in his 27 years of living had Hope been so far out of his comfort zone.

The underground parking garage was filled with people, mostly men in their thirties, all concentrated on the two men beating the crap out of each other in the middle of the spacious room. The fight was held inside an octagon shaped cage, a rickety construction made of chicken net wrapped around eight iron poles anchored to the ground. The stench of sweat and stale beer, the nonexistent personal space, the crunching sounds of fists breaking bones coming from the cage – Hope just couldn't fathom why people actually _paid _to be a part of it. He did see the irony of his inner statement though, since he himself had just given 50 bucks to enter the garage too. _This is so messed up, _he thought, feeling even more uncomfortable.

"Did you see that kick? He could get internal bleedings from a kick like that! What about his spleen? That kick could definitely have damaged his spleen," he said to his companion, cringing visibly at every critical hit.

"Could you stop? You're fucking embarrassing," Noel hissed. "I'm risking a lot by bringing you here, so could you at least _try _to fit in?"

Sometimes, Hope wondered if Noel really was an undercover cop pretending to be a gang member, or if he was in fact a gang member pretending to be a cop. Noel didn't seem to be completely certain about that either. What Hope knew for sure was that Noel was a nice guy with a strong sense of morality, and that he was good at keeping the underworld somewhat clean.  
At first, Hope had thought Noel and him were as different as two people can be, but after getting to know him better he'd realized they were unexpectedly alike. They both wanted to help people, and weren't afraid to use unconventional methods to do so. Hope liked to think of their relationship as some sort of symbiosis, even though he'd never say it out loud. Noel would only scowl at him for using 'fancy science words'.

"And he's down! Is it a knock out? I believe it's a knock out!" the commentator yelled in his microphone, bouncing like an excited toddler right outside the cage. Fighter number one let out a guttural roar, standing triumphant over fighter number two's lifeless body.

"He needs a doctor," Hope stated and started to move towards the cage.

Noel immediately grabbed the sleeve of Hope's shirt. "If you go on like this I'm never bringing you to a fight again," he warned. "If you want to find this Claire chic, you have to let this go. Endgame, Estheim. Always focus on the endgame."

Hope knew Noel was right, but he still had to make a physical effort not to run off and help the severely injured man. "Do you think she'll be here tonight?" he asked, trying to take his mind of it.

"Maybe. Lightning usually shows up about twice a month, always Tuesdays or Thursdays. It's been two weeks since I last saw her, so she should be here tonight or Thursday night."

"It's been two weeks since I saw Claire, too," Hope said, remembering the sisters' last visit. "Do you think it's her? That Lightning is Claire?"

"Skinny girl with pink hair, it does sound like our little Lightning. Tough chic, never taps out." Noel grinned wolfishly. "Hot as hell, too."

Before Hope could answer, the commentator once again started yelling into the microphone. "Next fight will begin in just a moment," he shouted with great vigor. "I hope you've placed your bets wisely, ladies and gentlemen, 'cause this is gonna be a tight one." Another pair of muscular men entered the cage, and soon the fight was on again. Still no sign of Claire.

Hope suffered through almost a dozen more fights that night, but the fighter called Lightning never showed up.

"Don't worry," Noel said consolingly, patting him on the back. "She'll probably be here on Thursday."

* * *

A few blocks away, Claire finally finished cleaning the last booth at the café she worked at. Bodhum was widely known as the café with the latest closing hour in the city, 2 a.m. every night of the week, and Claire often took the night shift. At 1.30 a.m. a group of hungry, intoxicated college students had decided that they really needed some sandwiches, and they'd managed to make a total mess of their booth in just half an hour.

It was almost half past two when Claire took off her apron and left the café. She locked the door behind her, and was just about to head home when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Her hands immediately curled into fists, but she managed to turn around slowly without ambushing the person behind her. She'd expected it, after all.

"Good evening, Claire," the old man said with a gentle smile.

"Good evening, Dysley," Claire answered politely.

"How is the rib, dear?" Dysley asked, seemingly concerned.

"It's fine, thank you," Claire lied. It had only been two weeks since she it and it still hurt every time she took a deep breath, but she knew Dysley's concern was as fake as his smile.

"Good, good. You see, I've set up a fight for you. Tomorrow, the Circle, 9 p.m."

"I thought I'd fight at the Octagon on Thursday?" Claire asked, getting a bad feeling about what was to come. The arena called the Circle could barely be called an arena; it was just a bunch of cars parked in a circle around a patch of grass. Street fighting was always dangerous, but in the Circle, it wasn't just the opponent you had to watch out for. Some of the cars still had shards of glass where the windshields used to be, and some fighters liked to use arena perks like that to their advantage. The Circle was a dangerous arena, and Claire had obtained some of her worst injuries in it because of glass shards and other loose car parts that could be used as weapons.

"Yes, but you see, Claire, this is a very important match. The tournament is coming up, and your odds… Let's say they're looking a bit _too_ good right now. You've had an impressive winning streak lately, which of course is great, but 2 to 1 doesn't make any real money, dear."

"I guess not…" _Please don't say it, please don't say it, please don't say it, _Claire silently prayed.

"Claire, you need to lose."

_Fuck. _

* * *

The following day went by in a haze. All Claire could think about was how every passing minute was one minute less to the fight.

"Are you okay?" her colleague Vanille asked when she'd zoned out in the middle of a conversation for the third time on their half-hour lunch break. Vanille tilted her head to the side, squinting a little. "You really shouldn't take the morning shift directly after a night shift. Your aura looks sad."

"My aura is fine," Claire said, giving Vanille a halfhearted smile. "I'm just a bit tired."

Vanille looked at her again, squinting even more. "No, it definitely looks sad. Worried, even."

"Turn off your inner eye and eat your sandwich," Claire scoffed and ruffled the redhead's hair.

"Only if you agree to share it with me," Vanille declared determinedly, dividing her sandwich in two. "Your aura looks sad, worried and hungry."

Claire rolled her eyes but gratefully accepted the sandwich. She needed all the energy she could get for the upcoming fight.

Vanille was right; she was worried. Terrified, even. She'd lost fights on purpose before, but never in the Circle. This time, she would without a doubt get hurt. Badly. She didn't even know her opponent yet, which was a whole other level of worrisome. Dysley only neglected to tell her about the opponent when the fight was impossible for her to win anyway. To lose on purpose against an opponent like that? Claire was petrified.

When her shift ended at 5 p.m. she decided to head over to her best friend's tattoo parlor instead of returning to her and Serah's shared apartment. Serah would only ask questions she really didn't want to answer, and Fang's Ink was closer to both the café and the Circle.

"Hey, Fang?" Claire called once she'd entered the parlor's lobby. "I have a match tonight and I really need some sleep, can I crash here for a while?"

She noticed that Fang had put up some new photos on the black painted walls, picturing some of Fang's latest works. The windows were covered with heavy drapes as usual, giving the parlor a basement-like environment even though it was on the second floor. She could hear a soft buzzing sound coming from the room where Fang kept her tattoo equipment, which meant she was currently busy with a client.

"Sure," Fang finally answered from the adjoined room. "Don't forget the sign." Claire could hear on the tone of Fang's voice that she was creating something extra difficult and that she would definitely kick Claire's ass if she disrupted her any further.

Claire put down her backpack behind the counter and grabbed the piece of cardboard Fang forced her to use each time she crashed on the lobby sofa. On the cardboard Fang had drawn a sign saying "not dead, just sleeping" followed by a smiley face, preventing people from calling for medical assistance when Claire refused to wake up. Claire could fall asleep anywhere at any time, an ability she'd developed thanks to several years of sleep deprivation. She could sleep through almost anything, which was why she always brought her own alarm clock everywhere. Claire's alarm clock could wake the dead.

"Just so you know, my clock will ring at 8," she yelled to Fang before lying down on the sofa. She could feel her body immediately relax, and lulled by the soft buzzing sound of the tattoo needle and the homely smell of ink Claire fell asleep with the homemade sign placed on her chest.

A few minutes after eight Claire left the parlor. She knew she probably should have grabbed something to eat before the fight, but she didn't have time or money to spare. Ignoring her growling stomach, she started to jog towards the Circle. It was just two kilometers between Fang's Ink and the Circle, so she had to take an extra detour around the city for a proper warm-up. She thought for a moment about running away – just leave the city and all the fighting behind her and run until her legs gave out. She quickly pushed the tempting impulse out of her mind. _It's too late for thoughts like that. _

When Claire reached the Circle Dysley was already waiting for her. He was wearing his characteristic purple coat, which meant Claire's opponent was from outside the city. The coat made his back look more hunched and thereby made him look older, tricking people into underestimating him. He never did the old man act among people from the city, since everyone in the city knew exactly what Dysley was capable of.

"You're late, dear," Dysley said, his fake smile a little colder than the night before.

"I warmed up. I was-"

"You need to last at least two minutes," Dysley interrupted, going straight to business. "Two minutes, then a knock out. No tap out; knock out. Do you understand?"

Claire nodded. "How much do I get?"

"Enough to cover your bills this month. If you handle this nicely, I'll even add a little extra pocket money, wouldn't that be nice?"

Claire nodded again.

"Good girl." Dysley raised a wrinkly hand and patted her on the cheek. "Two minutes, then knock out."

Claire had already stopped listening, searching the area for her opponent. "Is that him?" she asked, pointing at the man already standing in the Circle.

"Yes. His name is Gadot. Almost ambidextrous, though he favors his right hand. He's surprisingly fast for his size, so you're going to have to be even faster. Good luck, dear." Dysley patted her on the shoulder and then went to join the increasing audience. Claire pulled the hood of her sweater to cover her hair, her biggest give-away, and followed him into the crowd.

Gadot was huge. He was at least 50 kilos heavier than her, and stood about two decimeters taller. His dark skin was already glistening with sweat, bringing out his oversized muscles. _Fuck, a steroid user, _Claire thought, recognizing the distended stomach and disproportionate upper body muscles. She knew that some fighters on steroids were too aggressive to stop in the middle of a fight; that they would keep on hitting an unconscious opponent until someone – or several someones – stopped them. Claire shuddered. _This is really going to hurt. _

She walked into the circle of parked cars and dropped her backpack on the ground. Ignoring the audience's usual comments about her substandard size, she started rummaging through the bag, fishing up a roll of gauze. She winded the gauze around her wrists and hands and then secured the wraps with tape. After putting everything back in the bag and throwing it to Dysley, she finally took a closer look at her opponent. He was even bigger up close, but her earlier fear was already dying down. The fight was closing in and her other self was taking over. She calmly met Gadot's gaze, who was doing his best to make his glare intimidating. She smirked, and watched as a hint of hesitation flashed in his eyes. Then, she performed her final magic trick – she pulled off her sweater.

She could hear the audience gasp as she threw the sweater out of the ring. She stood tall in her sports bra and sweat pants, proudly showing off all her bruises and scars. In the hospital basement's examination room, she was always so ashamed over her body and its many imperfections. In the ring, those imperfections were merit points; marks showing exactly how dangerous she was. In the examination room, she was Claire; small, shy and forgettable. In the ring, she was Lightning; everything Claire was not.

"A girl? Really?" Gadot looked at her skeptically, his eyes lingering a little bit too long on her chest area.

Claire smirked again. She would lose this fight, but she'd do it beautifully, and she'd get to beat up another chauvinistic douchebag in the bargain.

The referee didn't bother giving any instructions or setting any rules; it was the Circle after all. Instead, he initiated the fight with a simple "go".

A few seconds passed where Claire and Gadot just observed each other. _Two minutes, then knock out. 120 seconds._ Claire started to mentally count the seconds. After 10 of those 120 seconds had passed, Gadot made his move. He ran towards her and threw his fist towards her face – only her face was no longer there. He was fast, Claire admitted, but she was faster. She quickly found her rhythm, blocking and dodging his increasingly aggressive punches, waiting for the time to pass. 30 seconds into the round, Gadot managed to actually hit her shoulder before she could move out of the way. Claire lost her balance for a moment and had to brace herself against the hood of a car. Gadot was even stronger than she'd predicted, and she did not look forward to the fight's unavoidable end.

45 seconds in, Gadot's movements started to decelerate, and each thrown punch gave Claire an opening to hit him back. She managed to get several good hits, but Gadot didn't seem to even notice it.

When the first minute came to an end, they were both sweaty but barely injured at all. The audience was complaining loudly about the fight's lack of blood and gore. _So far so good, _Claire thought, dodging another punch. Gadot's breathing was getting heavier, and his punches less accurate. Claire kept prioritizing her defense, counting the seconds. At 100 seconds in, she made her first real mistake, a block where she should have dodged, and she lost her balance again. This time there was no car behind her, and to prevent herself from falling she had to let both her heels touch the ground for the first time since the fight began. Gadot noticed it and centered his blows, making them unavoidable. She managed to block the first punch, a right hook that would have broken her nose, but the second punch hit her hard over her fractured rib. She heard a loud crunch, followed by an odd wheezing sound. The pain was manageable, but she suddenly found it hard to breath. She did a quick twirl and delivered a hard roundhouse kick to his face, and felt his nose break under the sole of her foot. She finally got a reaction from him, a low-pitched groan and a step backwards. Claire's inner timer finally reached 120, so when Gadot once again aimed for her face she only turned it away enough for him to hit her cheek instead of her nose. The punch sent her flying through the air, and the world started to fade away the moment she hit the ground. The last thing she saw before the darkness claimed her was Dysley's triumphant grin.

* * *

Hope's day was slow and uneventful. He was still shaken from the previous night's insight in the world of street fighting, and thought of Claire fighting against men twice her size made him extremely uncomfortable. It was strange, picturing timid little Claire engage in fights like that, but he'd seen her injuries and they definitely matched the injuries of a street fighter.

Just when he was about to leave his office for the night, his cellphone started ringing. He didn't recognize the number on the phone's display.

"Yes?" he answered the unknown caller.

"Dr. Estheim? Is that you?" a hysterical female voice said.

"Yes, that's me. Who am I talking to?"

"Serah. Serah Farron. Please, you have to help me. Oh god, please help me."

"What happened? How can I help you?" Hope asked, getting a bad feeling in his stomach.

"It's Claire. It's bad, it's really, _really _bad. She's barely breathing. Please, you have to help me!"

Not until then did Hope remember that the last time he'd seen the Farron sister had been on a Wednesday, not a Tuesday or a Thursday. _She fights at several arenas, _he realized, disbelieving his own stupidity.

"Give me your address and I'll come over. I'll be there as fast as I can."

_Fuck. _


	3. Chapter 3

After the knock out, Claire drifted in and out of consciousness. She was almost awake when Yaag, Dysley's right hand, carelessly threw her over his shoulder to carry her away from the Circle. The pain of her broken rib connecting with his back made her pass out again. The next time she came to, she was in the backseat of Dysley's car. Someone, presumably Yaag, had covered the seats in a sheet of tarpaulin before placing her there. _I'm supposed to do his dirty work, but God forbid I bring dirt into his car, _Claire thought, feeling both amused and insulted.

She wasn't aware she'd blacked out again until she suddenly found herself hanging upside down over Yaag's shoulder again, who was currently climbing the stairs up to her apartment. He put her down on the floor right outside her front door and rang the doorbell.

"You're dismissed from Dysley's assignments until the tournament," he said in his usual monotone voice, his face completely expressionless. He dropped Claire's backpack next to her. "The money is in the bag."

Claire nodded, not really listening. Yaag hadn't bothered helping her into her hoodie again, so she should have been freezing – but instead she felt like she was burning up from the inside. Her chest hurt, and it only got worse every time she tried to breathe.

"I'm coming!" Serah shouted from inside the apartment. Yaag immediately turned around and left, his mission over as soon as he'd transferred the responsibility of taking care of Claire to Serah. He always did what Dysley told him; nothing more, nothing less. Claire sometimes wondered if he could think for himself at all. "The robot", Claire called him, both because of his blind obedience and his silver hair.

When Serah opened the door, Yaag had already walked down the stairs and left the building. Serah looked around in confusion. She was just about to close the door again when a hand touched her foot.

"Serah," Claire whispered, pulling Serah's attention towards her.

Serah finally looked down on the floor. "Claire? Oh my god, Claire, what happened?" Serah said in horror, kneeling next to her. "Did you fight again? You told Dr. Estheim you wouldn't fight until your rib healed! God, you're stupid sometimes, sis. How bad is it?"

"Can't breathe."

"Oh god… What do I do, Claire? What the hell do I do?" Serah asked, trying hard not to cry.

Claire wanted to ask Serah to help her up and get her inside the apartment, but the words wouldn't come out. "Up. In," she said instead, giving up on forming proper sentences.

"Okay. Okay." Serah nodded to herself, gathering strength. "How are we going to do this?"

They looked at each other. Claire didn't weigh much, but neither did Serah. They both realized that moving Claire wasn't going to be easy.

Serah could no longer hold the tears in and started crying openly. "Oh god, oh god, oh god…"

"Hand," Claire said, interrupting Serah's panicked chanting. Serah took a deep breath, calming herself again, and reached out her hand. Claire grabbed it and slowly pulled herself up, almost passing out again in the process. Together they somehow managed to stumble inside the apartment, where Claire collapsed on the sofa in their hallway/kitchen/living room.

The next time she opened her eyes, someone else was in the room. Someone who wasn't Serah. Claire panicked and tried to sit up, but a firm hand on her shoulder held her down.

"Don't move," Serah said, using her authoritative teacher voice. "Dr. Estheim's here, and you're going to let him help you. Don't even try to argue with me on this one."

Serah's eyes were red-rimmed, but she was no longer crying. During Claire's unconsciousness, Serah's initial fear had turned into anger. Even though she'd only just begun her teacher education at the university, her teacher voice was already powerful enough to strike fear into anyone exposed to it – Claire included.

"Hi, Claire," Hope said, sitting down next to her on the sofa.

Claire blinked. _Why the hell is Hope Estheim in my living room? _she thought, staring at him in confusion. _When did he get here? _How _did he get here? Why is he wearing normal clothes? _She decided that the situation was too bizarre to handle in her current condition, so she just continued staring, hoping things would start making sense eventually.

"When did the breathing problem start?" Hope asked Serah.

"I don't know," Serah said. "I just found her like this. She's been… She…"

"I know about the fighting," Hope said before Serah could come up with a lie.

"Oh." Serah looked at him, eyes filled with wonder and relief. Hope gave her a small smile, and then turned back to Claire.

"Did you receive a blow to the fractured rib?" he asked after watching her take a few shallow, erratic breaths.

Claire nodded.

"You said you'd take it easy while the rib healed," Hope muttered.

Claire shrugged, and then winced at the pain the movement brought her.

"Definitely a traumatic pneumothorax," Hope stated. "You need an ambulance."

The word "ambulance" hit Claire like an electrical shock. "No!" she gasped, snatching Hope's cellphone from his hand. With a sudden burst of adrenaline she managed to scramble out of the sofa and up on her feet. She grabbed the floor lamp next to the coffee table and raised it like a baseball bat. "No ambulance," she said, waving the makeshift weapon.

"Your rib has punctured your lung, causing it to collapse. It will only get worse, and I can't help you without the proper equipment. You have to let me call for an ambulance." Hope reached out for the cellphone, but had to take a step back as Claire swung the lamp through the air.

"No," she growled, using the lamp to keep Hope away from her.

"Claire, please listen to me," Hope said, a hint of panic in his voice. "Your lungs are overcompensating for an air leakage in the pleural space. You're going into respiratory arrest."

"No. Ambulance." Claire was swaying, but her grip on the lamp was firm. Her decision was made, and nothing Hope said could make her change her mind. She'd finally earned enough money to pay the month's rent, and she would _not_ be spending it on an ambulance ride. _I'll be fine, _she thought. _I'm always fine. _

"Can't you drive her to the hospital?" Serah asked Hope.

"It's too far away. Too many traffic lights. An ambulance could probably be here in ten minutes, but getting to the hospital in my car would take at least twenty. We're running out of time. Shit…" Hope ran his fingers through his hair, furrowing his brow in concentration.

Claire could tell the exact moment the idea hit him. His eyes widened, and he grinned in relief. "I've got a chest tube kit at home. I promised my boss I'd check out this new brand, so he made me take a kit home. I've got a chest tube kit at home!"

"A what?" Serah stared at him skeptically.

"Just a thing that can save your sister's life," Hope said triumphantly. "I live five minutes from here. I can fix this. I can fix you, Claire. Please, let me fix you."

"No ambulance?" Claire's vision was getting blurry, and the pain in her chest was only getting worse.

"No ambulance, I promise. Please, Claire."

Claire didn't know why, but Hope seemed to be genuinely worried about her. He seemed to genuinely _care. _He'd helped her so many times, and he'd never demanded anything in return. She just couldn't understand his motives, and it really bothered her. _What does he gain from helping me? _

"Respiratory arrest, Claire," Hope said, clearly getting desperate. "It means you'll die without my help. Do you really want to die?"

_Die? _Claire hadn't even considered the possibility. All her life she'd had people depending on her, people she'd do anything for. Death had never been an option. She looked at Serah, who had started to cry again. _I can't die. She still needs me. _She looked at Hope again, contemplating whether or not he would keep his promise. He'd never betrayed her trust before, but parts of her still questioned the intentions behind his selflessness. _I don't trust him, but I don't want to die. _

Claire lowered her arms and uncurled her fists. When the floor lamp hit the ground, Hope was already moving. Claire prepared herself for another round of pain, expecting to be thrown over a shoulder again, but Hope surprised her by gently scooping her up in a bridal-carry. Her body tensed up from the unexpected intimacy.

"I'm sorry," he said, easing his grip around her back and legs before rushing out of the apartment. "Just hold on, and try not to gasp or cough."

Claire nodded. She burrowed her fingers in Hope's shirt, but then remembered that her hands were still wrapped in dirty, bloodstained gauze. She let go of the white fabric, but her hands had already left stains.

"Don't worry about it," Hope said, hurrying down the stairs. Claire reluctantly held on to the shirt again, realizing that she herself was probably just as dirty, bloodstained and disgusting as the gauze. She closed her eyes, trying not to think about how horrible she must smell. She was ashamed and embarrassed, just like she always seemed to be around Hope Estheim. There was something about his altruism and picture-perfectness that made everything about Claire seem so… _Dirty. _

Serah opened the door leading to the street, and then opened the door to the backseat of Hope's car. Claire didn't care much for cars, but she could tell it was an expensive one. When Hope carefully put her down on the leather seat she tried to object, knowing she'd ruin the luxurious upholstery, but all she got out was a pitiful whimpering sound.

"Don't worry about it." Hope gave her a warm smile. "Serah? Make sure she stays in an upright position."

Serah nodded, scooting closer to Claire in the backseat. "You're such an idiot, sis," she said with an exhausted sigh.

Claire couldn't answer, so instead she took Serah's hand in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Four minutes later, Hope parked the car on the driveway of a large two-story villa.

"You live here? All by yourself?" Serah asked incredulously.

"Yes." Hope's answer was short, and he clearly didn't want any follow-up questions. He opened the door to the backseat and picked Claire up again.

"You really need to eat more," he said, jogging towards the front door.

Claire answered by giving him the finger.

"Sis!" Serah hissed, anger outweighing her fear again. "He's saving your life, so could you for once in your life at least _try _to behave?"

"At least she's not completely out of it." Hope looked at Claire with curious amusement. "Serah, there's a set of spare keys in the flowerpot over there. Open the door."

Serah hurried to the flowerpot, found the keys and opened the front door. _He never asks for things, _Claire noticed. _He's really used to ordering people around. _

Claire had to use all her mental strength to refrain from hyperventilating. Her body needed oxygen, and breathing didn't seem to help at all anymore. Her body was going numb, and she was getting tired. Sleepy, even.

Claire suddenly became aware of that she'd closed her eyes. She didn't know when or for how long, but when she forced her eyelids open again she was already inside the house.

Hope's home was beautiful. Claire realized that "beautiful" probably was a weird adjective to use to describe a home, but it somehow fit. The villa had a high ceiling and lots of large windows, and every piece of furniture seemed to have been carefully picked out to create the picture of a perfect home. _But it isn't perfect, _Claire thought._ It doesn't even look like anyone lives here. _

Hope gently put her down in an armchair in the hallway, which was – of course – white. Claire felt like she probably would have left stains just by looking at it. Hope disappeared into the kitchen and started rummaging through drawers. When he returned, he was carrying a cardboard box and a pair of scissors.

"I'm going to insert a chest tube right here in the safe triangle," Hope said, pointing at the area below her armpit. "It will remove the air from the pneumothorax and re-expanse the lung."

Hope made Claire put her arm over the armchair's backrest and then started cutting in the fabric of her sports bra, creating a hole big enough for the tube.

"Normally, the patient's given local anesthesia before the insertion, but we're running out of time," Hope said after sterilizing the skin with an antiseptic. "Normally, this is procedure is done in an OR. This is a bad idea of epic proportions, you know that, right?"

Claire nodded.

"Alright. Alright." Hope put on a pair of surgical gloves and picked up the scalpel from the cardboard box. He took a deep breath, and for a moment he actually looked a bit nervous.

"This is really going to hurt," he said, and made the first incision.

Claire had always had a high pain threshold, but a chest tube insertion without anesthesia was an immensely painful experience even for her. The cut itself wasn't too bad, but then Hope had to part the flesh with a surgical retractor to create a passage into the chest. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't make a sound. She threw her head back in a silent cry, burrowing her nails deep in the armchairs upholstery.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Hope whispered, and then forced the tube into her chest.

Claire felt the pain for about one tenth of a second before her consciousness decided to give up completely. _Finally, _she thought, welcoming the painless oblivion.

The next time Claire opened her eyes, she was once again in the arms of Hope Estheim.

"Please don't hit me," Hope said, noticing her body tensing up. "I'm just moving you to the guest room. There hasn't been any air leakage for a while now, so you don't have to be in an upright position anymore. I'll keep the tube in for a couple of more hours, though. I want to make sure the lung re-expands properly."

Claire nodded. Her chest still hurt, but she could breathe again. She took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of being fully oxygenated again. She'd really missed breathing.

Someone, presumably Hope, had wrapped her in a soft fleece blanket. Right there and then, Claire didn't feel quite as uncomfortable as she usually felt around Hope. _I almost died today, _she thought, _but he saved me. I don't know why, but he saved me. _

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely, her vocal cords still a bit rusty. Hope just smiled.

He carried her to the guest room, where Serah was already sleeping in the double bed.

"Everything will be okay," he said, tucking Claire in next to her sister. "I promise."

_No, it won't, _Claire thought when Hope had left the room. _The world doesn't work that way. _

She knew all too well that Hope's words weren't true – she'd seen just how awful the world could be first hand, after all – but she had still enjoyed hearing them. Even though she knew there were some things in her life that would never be okay, she still fell asleep with a tiny smile on her lips.


	4. Chapter 4

Hope was pacing back and forth in the ground floor living room, trying to make sense out of what had just happened.

Hope had never been an impulsive person. Even in his younger years, he'd always thought before he acted. He'd always planned things ahead, calculating every possible outcome when facing any kind of problem. He hated uncertainty and surprises, and he always wanted to be in control, no matter the situation. _So how the hell did the Farron sisters end up in my guest room? _

The at-home chest tube insertion had been a terrible idea, probably the worst idea he'd ever had. If he'd had more time he would have come up with something better, but he'd panicked. Claire had been dying, and he'd panicked.

"Pulmonary edema, hemothorax, empyema," Hope muttered to himself as he wandered around the room. "Hematoma, seroma, subcutaneous emphysema… Infection. Infection, infection, infection."

"Is there a point to whatever it is you're doing, or are you just blurting out fancy medical terms for fun?" someone behind his back suddenly asked. Hope turned around, recognizing the voice of the younger Farron sister. Serah was leaning against the doorframe, looking at him curiously.

"Possible complications after a chest tube insertion," Hope sighed.

"My sister is the strongest person I know. I'm sure she'll be fine," Serah said with an encouraging smile. "You saved her life yesterday. I can never thank you enough for that."

"I'm glad I could help," Hope said absentmindedly. He would have to somehow convince Claire to take antibiotics, and he knew it wouldn't be easy. Claire was stubborn, distrustful and an overall insufferable patient. _Maybe I should just give her another shot of cephalosporin before she wakes up, _Hope thought, running his fingers through his hair.

Hope had given Claire an injection of antibiotics right after she'd passed out. In normal cases, that would have been enough to prevent any possible post-surgery infections, but Claire's case was anything but normal. He didn't know how much cephalosporin a patient would need after an at-home chest tube insertion. There were no studies about how much cephalosporin a patient would need after an at-home chest tube insertion. Hope was completely on his own in this, and it terrified him.

"I'll be going soon," Serah said, pulling Hope out of his thoughts. "I have classes today. Can I trust you to take care of Claire?"

"Of course. I didn't have any patients booked for today, so I decided to take a work-at-home day."

"Oh. Thank you. And, uh…" Serah looked down on the floor, remaining silent for a moment. When she looked up again, she had a new, fiery glow in her eyes. "I'm not a fighter like Claire, but if you do something to her when she's helpless like this, I _will _come up with a way to ruin your life. That's a promise."

Hope took an involuntary step back. The petite 18 year-old's death glare sent shivers down his spine. "I would never take advantage of Claire," he said sincerely. "Never."

"Good." Serah's murderous aura disappeared immediately. She gave him a bright smile, as if nothing ever happened. "Just making sure we're on the same page. She'll wake up in…" Serah paused to check her wristwatch. "Ten minutes. I have to go now, but I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Serah gave him a little wave and crossed the hall, her high heels clicking audibly against the parquet floor. Hope cringed internally but chose not to say anything. He'd always assumed Claire was the scarier of the Farron sisters, but now he wasn't so sure.

"Note to self; don't mess with the Farron sisters," he muttered, watching Serah shut the front door behind her.

Hope felt an unexpected sting of envy. Serah would do anything for Claire, just like Claire would do anything for her. They had each other, no matter what. Hope could not remember ever having a bond like that, not with anyone. He was an only child, and he'd never been that close to his parents. He'd always had friends – even the occasional girlfriend – but he'd never really connected with anyone on a deeper level.

Most of the time, the solitude didn't bother him at all. He enjoyed being on his own. _I like being alone, but I don't fancy being lonely, _Hope thought, recalling a poem he'd once read. Seeing the Farron sisters' unconditional love for each other made him wonder what it was like to have a person you'd do anything for. Most of all, it made him wonder if it was really worth it.

After fetching another cephalosporin syringe from one of his many what-if drawers, he quietly walked into the guest room. Claire was curled up in fetal position, looking even tinier than usual. She was snoring softly, which only enhanced her state of total adorableness. _And that's a totally unprofessional observation, _Hope scolded himself.

"Claire?" he said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Hey, Claire?"

Claire pulled up her knees even closer to her chest, but otherwise remained unresponsive.

Hope carefully touched her arm. "Claire?"

Still no reaction. _Heavy sleeper, huh, _he thought while he prepared the antibiotics shot. _Thank god. _He wasn't afraid of conflicts, not really. He just had a feeling that a conscious Claire would be way harder to convince to take the shot than an unconscious Claire. _Sure, you convince yourself that, _his inner critic mocked him.

Hope pulled down the blanket wrapped around Claire and sterilized the skin on her upper arm.

"I'm sorry about this," Hope said as he injected the cephalosporin. He knew the shot was pretty painful, especially for someone as thin as Claire, so the fact that she still didn't move a muscle was getting a bit alarming.

"Claire?" After making sure the chest tube was still properly attached to her body, he started to shake her. "You need to wake up now, Claire. This is getting weird."

Claire continued her calm snoring. Hope shook her harder. "Claire!"

Hope's brain started to scan through all his medical knowledge of post-surgery complications, trying to find something about why she wouldn't wake up. Sure, it sometimes happened that patients wouldn't wake up after surgery, but that was almost always because of the anesthesia. Claire was never given any anesthesia. Hope could feel panic creeping up on him. _What did I do wrong? _

Suddenly, a piercing alarm blasted through the room. Hope's body jerked in shock, causing him to fall out of the bed and down on the floor.

Claire gracefully rolled out of the bed swiftly crossed the room. She picked up her backpack, which was placed next to the guestroom door. From the backpack she pulled out an alarm clock, the unmistakable source of the horrible noise. When she finally turned it off, Hope wondered if his ears – or his heart, for that matter – would ever be the same.

Claire turned around, noticing Hope on the floor. "You're on the floor," she stated, tilting her head to the side.

"Yeah." Hope slowly got up on his feet, knees creaking audibly. "I tried to wake you up."

"Oh." Claire's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "I'm a heavy sleeper."

"That's an understatement." Hope answered her almost-smile with a grin. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Claire answered automatically, distracted by the cylindrical apparatus taped to her side. She raised her arm and looked at it quizzically.

"It's a flutter valve. It removes the leaked air from the pneumothorax," Hope explained.

Claire nodded. She was looking even paler than usual, and she'd started swaying. "I think… I think I'm gonna go back to bed." She blinked a few times, as if trying to force her eyes to focus.

"Claire, when was the last time you ate?" Hope asked, realizing what was going on. He hurried to her side and reached out an arm for her to lean on, which she – of course – ignored. She managed to stagger all the way to the bed before collapsing, falling face first into it.

"Hey, be careful would you? You've still got a tube in your chest," Hope said, beginning to understand what Serah had to put up with all the time. Claire rolled over to the side and pulled her knees up to her chest again.

"Claire? Don't go back to sleep, you need to eat," Hope said exhaustedly.

Claire opened an eye to glare at him.

"My house, my rules." Hope crossed his arms and glared back at her.

They stared at each other for a while. Claire seemed to be aiming for a death glare, but not even she could look threatening while curled up in fetus position.

"Fine," she finally said when she realized her glare wouldn't work. She sat up, swung her feet over the edge of the bed and tried to stand up. Her legs gave in about halfway up, forcing her to bounce back down on the mattress – all while stubbornly ignoring Hope's outreached hand.

"What are you, three?" Hope groaned while watching Claire struggle. "Just… Just stay here, I'll go get something for you. Will sandwiches do?"

Claire nodded.

"Tea?"

Claire shook her head.

"Alright." Hope turned around to head for the kitchen. He rarely ate at home, but he was fairly sure he had enough in the fridge to provide her with some sandwiches. He was just about to leave the room when Claire spoke again.

"Can I… Can I have coffee?"

When Hope turned to look at her, she was fiddling with the blanket she'd wrapped tightly around her body, avoiding eye contact. This was the first time she'd ever asked him for anything, and Hope couldn't help but smile.

"Yes, of course," he said, trying to act as if it wasn't a big deal. Even though it was just a tiny little question, it was still a major breakthrough in their relationship. _If I get her to trust me, I might one day be able to convince her to stop fighting, _he thought, grinning proudly. It wasn't much, but it was progress.

Hope had never been much for cooking. He knew that making sandwiches, tea and coffee couldn't really be classified as cooking, but he still felt pretty homely when he prepared a meal for him and Claire. The feeling of domestic happiness heightened even more when Claire seemed to enjoy the sandwiches way more than they really deserved. The bread was pretty dry, and all he'd found in the fridge was butter and some cheese, but Claire didn't seem to mind.

"Really though, when was the last time you ate?" he asked when she grabbed a third one from the tray he'd placed between them on the bed. He himself only ate one, since unlike Claire he really_ did_ mind the dryness of the bread.

"Lunchtime yesterday," Claire said with her mouth full.

Hope looked at his wristwatch. "It's almost 9 a.m. You haven't eaten for what, 20 hours?"

Claire shrugged and took a swig from her coffee. She took it black, which didn't surprise Hope at all. Claire really looked like a black coffee kind of person.

"Could you remove this… thing, now?" Claire asked, pointing at the chest tube. "I should get going soon."

"Not yet. In a couple of hours, maybe," Hope said quickly. "You should rest."

At first, he thought Claire would argue with him, but instead she just nodded. She was having a hard time keeping her eyes open.

"It's okay. Go back to sleep," Hope said, giving her a warm smile.

Claire nodded again and crawled back under the covers. _She must be really tired, _Hope thought, _otherwise she'd never do as I said. _

He almost felt bad for lying to her. Almost. The chest tube hadn't leaked air for hours, so he definitely could have removed it safely already. _So why didn't you? _his inner critic commented.

Hope could list dozens of reasons. There was still the possibility of internal bleeding, and without an x-ray he couldn't be absolutely sure the lung was fully re-expanded. If he sent her home, he was fairly certain she wouldn't get the rest she needed either. As far as he knew, she could even go out fighting again, and that could be deadly in her condition. As long as she was in his guest room, he could keep her safe.

When he went to get his laptop from his briefcase, Claire was already snoring again. He thought about setting up the computer on the kitchen table as usual, but decided to use the desk in the guest room instead. _Something might happen, _he thought. _She might need me. _

His inner critic laughed. _You're the one who needs her. _

* * *

When Claire woke up a couple of hours later, she was much more alert – more alert than Hope had ever seen her before.

"I haven't slept like this in ages," she said, frowning a little. "I really need to get home. I'm working tonight."

"You can't be serious – you're fighting again? Tonight?" Hope said, immediately starting to worry.

Claire shook her head. "No. I work at Bodhum. It's a café. You should go there sometime." She gave him one of her rare almost-smiles. "Could you please remove the tube thing now?"

Removing a chest tube without an assistant was another bad idea of epic proportions, but Claire still refused to go to the hospital.

"If you don't take it out I'll just do it myself. Can't be that bad," she said with a shrug.

"You're impossible," Hope muttered, but in the end he did as she said and removed the tube on his own. The procedure went surprisingly well, and had it not been such a terrible idea to begin with he would have put it on his resume.

"You've got sutures from the insertion, so you'll have to visit me sometime next week so I can remove them," he said, watching Claire get ready to leave.

Claire nodded. She'd abandoned the borrowed blanket, and was now wearing a big, black hoodie she'd picked up from her backpack instead.

"If I told you to stop fighting, would you listen?" Hope asked. Claire turned her back on him, remaining silent. She picked up her backpack and walked through the hallway to the door. "What if I begged you?"

Claire stopped, her hand already on the door knob. "Why? Why would you do that?" she asked.

"You're my patient. I care about your well-being."

Claire snorted. "That's such a lame answer."

"What did you want me to answer?" Hope wished he could see Claire's face, but she was still facing the door. Her back didn't give him much to go on.

"Something that wasn't a lie." Claire finally turned around to face him. He couldn't fully read her expression, but there were definitely disappointment in her eyes. "You don't get it, do you? No one ever does things for selfless reasons like that. No one." She paused for a moment to look at him, tilting her head to the side. "I don't think you know why you're helping me either."

Her words hit him deep, and it really bothered him. She was right; he didn't know why he'd decided to help her that day over a year ago, nor why he'd continued helping her ever since.

"Maybe it's because you need my help?" he tried. "You're just 20 years old, Claire. A 20 year-old like you can't have sole responsibility for both yourself _and _a teenage sister, especially if it brings you to such desperate means as street fighting. You're way too young to raise another person. Do you need financial help? I could probably…"

Hope stopped talking when he saw the look in Claire's eyes. Her hands curled into fists, and for a moment he thought she would attack him.

"I've been taking care of Serah since I was 15," she said in a low voice, fire burning in her eyes. "You don't know me. You don't know _us. _I've worked my ass off since my mother died to support me and Serah, and you know what? I've done one hell of a job. She studies at the university now. She's becoming a teacher. I don't care what you think about me, but don't you dare look down on how I've raised Serah." The fury in her eyes gradually turned into weary resignation. "Wow. Serah's upbringing is probably the only thing I've ever been proud of, and you managed to make me feel ashamed of that too."

"I didn't mean it like that," Hope said, trying desperately to get the conversation back on safe ground. "I really didn't."

"But you did. Otherwise, it wouldn't hurt like this." Claire turned away from him again, but not until Hope caught sight of the tears in her eyes. He'd never seen her this emotional before, and he despised himself for being the cause of it. Before he could come up with anything to say, Claire had already opened the door.

"I'll come up with a way to repay you for this. For everything. I don't need your pity," she said before taking off in a quick-paced jog.

"At least let me drive you home!" Hope shouted after her.

"Fuck off," she yelled back, and then she was gone.

Hope went back inside and closed the door behind him. He didn't know exactly what he'd done wrong, but he knew he'd fucked up. He'd made Claire – stone-cold, unapproachable street fighter Claire – _cry. _Oh yes, he'd fucked up. He'd fucked up badly.

The silence of his spacious villa seemed to be even quieter than usual, and the rooms seemed emptier than ever. Hope sighed. _I like being alone_, he thought, _but I don't fancy being lonely. _

* * *

**A/N: Hello, lovely readers! I hope you're all enjoying Underground as much as I'm enjoying writing it. I've managed to update once a week for three weeks now, and I'm going to try to keep that up in the future too, even though my Christmas break coming to an end. **

**Some of you have asked about my medical knowledge, and no, I don't have any medical education. Everything you find in this fic comes from hours and hours of research. I've tried to make the medical parts as accurate as possible, but I really wouldn't recommend trying any of it at home. **

**Thank you for all your reviews, lovely readers. I hope you'll enjoy future chapters too. **

**Love,  
Cecilia **


	5. Chapter 5

Claire liked to run. Running had always been her main method of transportation, and it had later turned into her main method of handling stress, sadness or anger, too. When she was younger, she'd used to run until her lungs or legs gave out, but nowadays she could run for as long as she wanted to. Running just didn't tire her out anymore.

Leaves rustled under the soles of her sneakers as she ran. It was the end of October, and the streets were coated in yellow and orange. The air was chilly, but not uncomfortable cold. It was a nice afternoon for a run.

_I probably overreacted, _Claire thought. Her chest still hurt, but not as much as her pride. Hope had looked at her with so much pity in his eyes, like she'd been a damsel in distress for him to save. Then, he'd mentioned Serah, and she'd snapped. Yes, she had probably overreacted, but she'd meant every word she said. She would come up with a way to pay him back for all his help, and then she would get by on her own again. Even if it meant going back to doing her own stitches. _And the tournament starts in three weeks. Brilliant timing, Claire. Brilliant. _

The distance between Hope's villa and her apartment was just a little over a kilometer, so it only took her a few minutes to get home. She would have preferred a longer run, but she really had to get ready for work. She came to a stop right outside the apartment building and crouched down on the ground.

"Tiny? Are you there?" she called. Something started moving in the bushes surrounding the building, and soon a tiny black cat strolled out of the shrubbery. "Hi Tiny," Claire said, scratching the cat behind its ear. "Still homeless, I presume?"

The cat started purring. Tiny, originally named Tiny Fucker, had just been a kitten when he'd first started showing up outside her house. Five months had passed since then and Claire still hadn't found Tiny's owner, even though she'd put up notes all over the city. Claire's landlord didn't allow pets inside the apartment, so Claire had made Tiny a temporary home in the bushes instead. Tiny's lair was just a rickety construction made of an umbrella and a blanket, but he seemed to like it. Tiny seemed to be overall fine with living on his own, leaving severed mice heads and bloody feathers all over the place, but Claire still worried about him.

"You need to find a home before the winter comes, you know," she said.

Tiny meowed.

"I know, I wish you could live with me too, but you can't. My landlord's a bitch."

Tiny meowed.

"Yes, you should totally leave rat carcasses on her doormat. You know where she lives." Claire gave the cat a final pat on the head before entering the building. Tiny looked at her miserably when she closed the door in his face. _I need to find him a home, _Claire thought, feeling guilty every time she had to leave the cat outside in the cold.

The first thing Claire did when she got home was to take a shower. Her skin was covered in layers of sweat, blood and dirt from the fight the night before, and she had to scrub for a long time to get it all out. The soap made all her wounds burn, but she didn't care. She just wanted to be clean. Before she could stop it, she'd started thinking about the white bed sheets in Hope's guest room, and how she'd probably ruined them for all time – that white armchair too, for that matter. She shook her head, putting a stop to her wandering mind. _Stop thinking about Hope, _she scolded herself.

Claire looked in the bathroom mirror, carefully touching the stitches on her side. Hope had done a great job, but the chest tube would still leave a scar. She didn't know why it bothered her – why it bothered her every time she got a new scar – it just did. _Fang's gonna have to come up with something spectacular to cover this up. _

Fang had promised long ago that when Claire was ready, she'd cover her scars with tattoos. At first, Claire had turned down Fang's offer, but now she was actually considering taking her up on it. It would turn the accidents on her body into statements, and she kind of liked the thought of that. She also knew that her mom would have hated it, and that made her like the thought even more.

Claire tried her best to comb out the tangles in her hair, but in the end she just gave up. She knew it would look like a mess when it dried anyway. Times like these, she really questioned her decision to keep it long. Having long hair was impractical, both at work and in fights, but she still couldn't bring herself to cut it off. It was just like the scars – she didn't know why she cared, she just did. She suspected her sudden bursts of vanity originated in a silly childhood dream, a dream she'd given up on ages ago that still refused to let her go. Every time she let her guard down, the dream was there, invading her mind with its amazingly vivid details. She shook her head again, pushing away the mental images. _It's too late for thoughts like that. _

Claire got dressed and went to work. The following day, she did the same, just like the day after that. The week went by – an uneventful, unmemorable week she spent mostly at work or in the parking garage below her apartment building. She'd created a small gym for herself in a corner of the garage, with gym equipment she'd found in the local junkyard. It wasn't much, but she had to do _something _to prepare for the tournament. She didn't know the exact details of anything yet, only the limited info Dysley had shared with her, but she assumed it would be rough.

Exactly 10 days after the fight in the Circle, Claire decided to remove the stitches from the chest tube with a pair of scissors. She'd borrowed a computer at the library and looked things up on the internet, and had come to the conclusion that 10 days was a good waiting period before removing stitches. She'd also found a lot of information about exactly how much of a bad idea everything involving the at-home chest tube insertion had been. Since the infection risk couldn't really get much worse than it already was, she'd decided that removing the stitches herself would probably not worsen anything – _probably_ being the keyword.

In the end, she actually managed to remove all the stitches by herself. It bled a little, but she thought she did an okay job considering her lack of medical knowledge. _I'll be fine on my own, _she thought, bandaging the wound. _I'm always fine. _

"Could you hurry up? I need to pee," Serah shouted from outside the bathroom door.

"Two seconds," Claire yelled back, quickly wiping off the bloodstains on the sink. _I'm doing this for her. _

That day, Claire actually felt pretty good about herself. She'd managed to successfully carry out a medical procedure all on her own, and her lungs seemed work the way they should again. Even though it was a Saturday and the café would be overcrowded all evening, she was in a good mood.

"Your aura looks happy," Vanille commented, squinting at Claire. She tilted her head to the side. "Happy and hungry."

"Shut up," Claire said and flicked Vanille on the forehead. "You make it sound like I'm always hungry."

"Your aura is always hungry," Vanille stated with a wide smile. She grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl behind the counter tossed it to Claire, who caught it with a sigh.

"Someday, you're gonna get us busted for doing things like this," Claire said, but still took a bite of the fruit. Vanille just shrugged and smiled. They both knew that if she'd actually get caught, she'd just smile her way out of any possible trouble. Vanille could make even the grumpiest customer smile, and it was absolutely impossible not to like her. When she'd first started working at Bodhum, Claire could barely believe the girl was just one-and-a-half years younger than her, and she still had hard time seeing it. Claire had never before met a 19 year-old with the ability to feel such childish excitement over everything and everyone. Vanille was definitely one of a kind.

Claire turned to greet her next customer, and almost dropped her apple.

"Hope?"

"Hi, Claire. Sorry for barging in like this. Can we talk?"

Hope was wearing a white blazer and light grey slacks, and his platinum hair looked perfect as usual. _I wonder how much time he spends on his hair every morning to make it look like he doesn't care, _Claire thought, strangely annoyed by his casual flawlessness.

"I'm working," she said, giving him a blank face.

"When do you get off?"

"2 a.m."

Hope pulled up the sleeve of his blazer and checked his wristwatch. Claire could see the inner conflict in his eyes as he realized that the time was just a little after 10 p.m. "I knew Bodhum had late closing times, but this is just ridiculous," he muttered.

Claire gave him an expressionless look, hiding the fact that she was actually a bit curious about what his next move would be.

Hope sighed. "Alright. I guess I'll just have to wait then. One cup of tea, please."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

Hope shrugged. "Yeah. Listen, Claire, I really want to apologize for-"

"Earl grey?" Claire interrupted. She wasn't ready for an apology. She wasn't ready for any interaction with Hope at all.

"Yes, how did you know?" Hope said with a surprised smile.

"The smell. Your house smells like earl grey." Claire looked away and started typing on the cash register. It wasn't just his house that smelled like earl grey – Hope himself smelled like earl grey, too, and the fact that Claire actually knew this was weird on so many levels.

After getting his tea, Hope took a seat in a booth close to the register. To say he looked out of place would be an understatement. Bodhum's usual customers were mostly students or other people unable to afford starbucks. Claire really liked Bodhum's wooden floor and flowery wallpaper, and she thought the worn out, pale pink upholstery of the seats in the booths gave the place a vintage kind of charm – but she also knew that some people thought Bodhum just looked cheap and old. Hope with his computer and his air of elegance didn't fit in at all.

"Who's that?" Vanille whispered when they finally got a few customer-free moments.

"He's just my physician," Claire answered.

"Oh, really? Because Mr. Just-your-physician has been sitting there for almost an hour now, and let's face it, our tea is not that spectacular." Vanille tilted her head to the side and squinted, observing the man in the booth. Hope had pulled out a laptop from his briefcase and seemed to be highly concentrated on whatever it was he was doing on it.

Vanille suddenly started giggling.

"What? Does his aura look funny?"

"Nah. I just realized that I'd totally tap that, that's all," Vanille said, still giggling.

Claire looked at her skeptically. "You're gay."

"I know! That really says something about how hot he is, doesn't it?" She continued to fascinatedly stare at Hope.

Claire snorted. "Down, girl. Don't make me tell Fang you said that."

Vanille shrugged. "She'd definitely agree with me."

Claire shook her head, a hint of a smile on her lips. She'd been the one to introduce Fang and Vanille to each other, and they'd clicked instantly. They were great together, and Claire couldn't help but feel a bit proud.

Hope looked up from his computer and gave the girls a little wave. Claire immediately looked away while Vanille happily waved back.

"You should keep him," Vanille said with a wink right before a group of new customers arrived at the counter, preventing Claire from answering with her usual hand gesture. Instead, she gave Vanille an indiscrete glare and went back to work.

* * *

Hope couldn't remember if he'd ever sat at a café for four hours straight before. He'd had a lot of paperwork to do, so he hadn't really had the time to get bored, but it was still a pretty desperate thing to do just to talk to a girl.

He'd had a hard time concentrating at work all week. The tears in Claire's eyes had really upset him, and he knew he had to somehow make it right. He wasn't sure Claire would even listen to his apology, but he would at least give it a try – even if it meant sitting at an overcrowded café for four hours.

When closing hour finally arrived, Hope still wasn't completely sure what he would say. He watched as Claire shooed out the last group of intoxicated teenagers and started cleaning the tables. Her red-haired colleague had left around half an hour earlier, saying something about a bus.

"Can we talk outside? I need to lock this place up," Claire said when she was finished. She took off her white apron, put on her oversized hoodie and grabbed her backpack from behind the counter. She locked the front door from the inside, and then motioned for Hope to follow her through a door next to the cash register.

"Yes, of course." Hope put the laptop back in his briefcase and followed her, first through the door, then through the kitchen and finally out the back door. The parking lot outside of Bodhum was empty, his own car being the only exception. Claire locked the door behind them and turned on the alarm by punching a code on a keypad.

"So," she said, turning around to face him. "What did you want?"

Hope took a deep breath, and then began to speak. "I really wanted to apologize. I was an inconsiderate jerk. You're right, I don't know you, and I don't know what you and your sister have gone through. All I know is that I want to help you. The world is a mess, and I feel like I'm just standing on the sideline watching it all go to hell. I do what I can, but I'm just a doctor. I rarely make any difference. When I help you, I know I do something that _matters. _You would have died that night if I hadn't helped you, and that matters. When I help you, _I _matter. Is that selfish enough for you to believe it?"

Claire looked at him, listening closely to his words. She remained silent for a while, deliberating her answer, and then she nodded. "I believe you. I'm…"

Claire fixed her gaze on the ground and lowered her voice before continuing. "I'm sorry too. I overreacted."

Hope sighed in relief. "Does this mean you'll let me help you again? I really need to look at those stitch-"

"Shut it," Claire hissed, holding up her hand in a silencing gesture. "Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you want?" she shouted, staring into the darkness on the other side of the parking lot.

Hope looked at her in confusion. "Who are you talking-"

"I said shut it!" Claire punched him in the arm, hard enough to hurt. Hope could detect worry in her voice, which automatically made him worry too.

A tall man stepped out of the shadows. "Are you Lightning?" he asked calmly.

"No," Claire answered, pulling the hood of her sweater over her head. "You should probably leave," she whispered to Hope, eyes never leaving the stranger walking towards them with determined steps.

"Oh, really?" the man said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He came to a stop a couple of meters away from them, still half concealed in darkness.

"Really." Claire took a step forward, covering Hope with her body. Hope stood frozen in place, paralyzed by the conflict of two equally strong instincts; "protect Claire" and "run like hell".

Suddenly, something moved behind the dumpsters right beside them. Three men stormed out, one of them significantly larger than the others. The large man grabbed Claire's shoulders and slammed her back into the wall. He pulled the hood off her head, took a firm grip on her hair and forcefully tilted her head back, letting the light of a nearby streetlight illuminate her face.

"It's her. It's Lightning," the giant confirmed. "Am I done here?"

"You're done," the first man answered.

The giant nodded and let go of Claire's hair. Hope immediately ran over to her, steadying her as she slumped heavily against the wall. "I know the fight was staged," the giant said in a low voice. "Next time, I want a real fight. I know what you can do. You can take these dicks."

Claire nodded, shifting her focus back to the first man, who was now joined by his two companions. The giant turned around, and without looking back he disappeared into the shadows again.

"Was that the guy you fought last week?" Hope whispered, staring at Claire in shock.

Claire nodded. "Hope, you need to leave. Run to your car and go. They won't follow you, it's me they want."

"I can't just… I…" Hope could feel panic growing inside him. He tried to come up with a way out, something that could save both of them, but his brain seemed to work in slow motion. He was paralyzed again, unable to think coherent thoughts.

"You see, Lightning, we're having a bit of a betting problem," the first man said. He was standing closer to the streetlight now, but was still mostly hidden in the dark. Hope could tell that he was probably somewhere in his thirties, and maybe a brunette. His clothes were ordinary, just a t-shirt and jeans. If it came to it, Hope would never be able to pick him out of a lineup.

"It was a beautiful performance you did last week, but your odds are still a little bit too good. Nothing personal. We just have to… incapacitate you a little."

_This can't be happening, _Hope thought. _This can't be fucking happening. _

Claire pulled off her hoodie again and slowly raised her fists. "Hope. If you're not gonna run, then stay the fuck out of my way." And with those words, Claire attacked.

Her initiative took them all by surprise. She ran towards them, and before any of the three had even moved a muscle she'd jumped, spun around in the air and delivered a merciless roundhouse kick to the chin of the man closest to her. The poor guy went out like a light. The first man and his companion tried to catch her, but Claire dodged them both.

Hope felt like he should do _something, _but he still couldn't move. Claire's movements were hypnotizing, making the scene look more like a dancing session than an actual fight. She was always on her toes, always evading the men's approaches by following a rhythm only she could hear. In one of her spins, Hope could for a moment see her face, and the sight made him drop his briefcase on the ground. Claire was _smiling. _

It wasn't one of the few almost-smiles she'd given Hope from time to time, but a real, mischievous grin. It wasn't just her facial expression that was different; her whole body language had changed. _This isn't Claire, _Hope realized. _This is Lightning. _

Claire elbowed the companion hard on the nose, making him fall to the ground with a guttural groan. She followed up the attack with a hard kick to his groin, all while grinning triumphantly. Hope shuddered.

Claire walked up to the first man, who was now the last man standing. They stared at each other, both out of breath, waiting for the other to make a move.

In the corner of his eye, Hope saw something move in the shadows again. "Claire, watch out!" he yelled, forcing his body to move towards the fight. "He's got back up!"

Claire turned around just in time to see a fourth man join the fight. The man hit her hard in the stomach, and Claire lost her balance, landing hard on the asphalt. She rolled and was up again in less than a second, but Hope could see on her face that she was in pain.

Hope finally managed to make his body obey him. He didn't know how to help Claire, but he'd come up with something. _I can do this, _he thought, forcing his legs to run. _I can do this. I can do this. _

Hope ran face first into man number five. Man number five was bigger than the others, almost as big as the giant. "Bro, stay out of this," he said, blocking Hope from the fight. Hope tried to move past him, but the man only moved with him. "Seriously, bro. This doesn't concern you."

"Of course it concerns me!" Hope growled. He tried to duck under the man's arm, but the man just blocked him a third time. He was almost as wide as he was tall, and didn't leave any windows at all.

"Ah, she's your girl. Sorry 'bout that, bro." Man number five looked like he was actually genuinely sorry for him, and it made Hope even more furious.

"Could someone just fucking knock her out?" the first man yelled. Hope could hear a body hit the ground, but he had no idea who the body belonged to since there was still an oversized dudebro in the way.

_I can do this, _Hope thought again, curling his right hand into a fist. _I can do this._ He took a deep breath, raised his fist and then, for the first time in his whole life, Hope threw a punch. The world slowed down, and he watched in tense anticipation as his fist connected with man number five's cheek.

Man number five stared at him. "What the fuck was that for, bro?" he asked, looking like he'd just been betrayed by a newly made friend. Hope took a step back. He wasn't sure what reaction he'd expected, but he knew that this scenario had _not _been a part of the plan. _Now what? _he thought, looking at his aching fist.

Something hit man number five from behind, making him stumble forward. A pair of long legs wrapped themselves around his neck, and he was suddenly being pulled backwards. Claire somehow made him summersault backwards and land on his face while she herself landed gracefully on top of him. When she was sure the man wasn't getting up again, she stood up and jogged over to Hope.

"Are you okay?" she asked, eyes still burning with adrenaline.

"I hit him," Hope said, staring at his fist.

"Yes, you did." Claire chewed on her lip, having a strange look on her face.

"Did you see that? I hit him."

"I saw it." The look on her face intensified. "Fuck, Hope, that was the worst punch I've ever seen," she said, and then she couldn't hold it in anymore – she began to laugh.

"Was it really that bad?" Hope asked with a frown, feeling a little insulted.

"Yes. It definitely was." Claire's laugh wasn't pretty, but it was contagious, and it quickly turned Hope's frown into a grin. His initial state of total shock was dying down, and he suddenly realized he had no idea how the real fight had ended. He took a look around him, and noticed that the parking lot could no longer be called "empty". The five men were scattered all over the lot, and even in the dim light from the streetlight Hope could clearly distinguish stains of blood on the asphalt. Two of the men were moaning quietly, and the other three weren't moving at all.

"Wow. You're really good at this," Hope stated, slightly freaked out.

Claire shrugged. "They were pretty bad." She wiped her lips, trying to remove some of the blood trickling from her nose. She had bruises and abrasions everywhere, and she'd started swaying a little.

"Claire, are _you _okay? Are you hurt?"

Claire yawned. "I'm fine. Adrenaline backlash."

She walked over to the first man and turned him onto his back with her foot. "Don't ever come here again," she said in a low, monotone voice, placing her foot on the man's throat. "You'll never touch me again, and you'll never touch him either_._" She put pressure on her foot, and the man started to make strangled noises. He tried to move away from her, but she only put more weight on the foot. "If you do touch me, him or anyone I know, I will kill you. That's not a threat – it's a promise."

Hope shuddered again, staring at Claire in awe. He didn't doubt her words for a second, and neither did the man on the ground.

Claire yawned again and removed her foot from the man's throat. "I'm gonna head home," she said, picking up the hoodie from the ground.

"Can I give you a ride?" Hope asked tentatively.

"I'll just ruin the seats." Claire's swaying was getting worse, and she almost fell over when she picked up her backpack.

"Doesn't matter. Come on." Hope carefully put his arm around her shoulders and held his breath, waiting for possible death threats, but Claire seemed to be too tired to care. She remained silent as Hope led her to the car, zigzagging between the bodies on the ground.

"Can we really just leave them like that?" Hope asked, watching the parking lot through the rearview mirror as he pulled out on the street. Leaving injured people unattended bothered him, but not enough to make him stay and take care of them. They'd tried to hurt Claire, and Claire had defended herself. Treating their injuries was not Hope's responsibility. _Sure, go on, convince yourself that what you just did wasn't a crime against your medical oath, _his inner critic mocked.

"Don't worry about them. I'm pretty sure who their boss is, and he always cleans up his messes," Claire said bitterly. "I'm sorry for putting you through all this. You should probably avoid me for a while. I'm not a good person to be around right now."

"I still want to help you."

"And I still want to pay you back for everything you've done for me and Serah. I don't know how yet, but I will come up with something. I won't be a charity case for you to use to ease your poor-little-rich-boy guilt."

Hope stayed silent for a few moments. He'd had an idea growing in the back of his mind the whole week, but he wasn't sure how Claire would react to it. He was never sure how Claire would react to _anything_. He took a deep breath, and then decided to at least give it a try.

"You could teach me how to fight."

"What?" Claire looked at him incredulously.

"I give you medical treatment, and you teach me how to fight. Symbiosis."

Claire kept staring.

"It doesn't have to be much. Just a bit of self-defense, and maybe how to throw a punch without spraining fingers." He raised his right hand from the wheel, showing her his already swollen thumb.

"You kept your thumb inside your fist when you hit him, didn't you," Claire said with a sigh. "_Never _keep your thumb inside the fist. You could have broken it."

"Oh." Hope tried to think back on the punch. He couldn't remember if his thumb had been inside or outside the fist, but he suspected Claire was right.

"I don't know what I could teach you. I never had a teacher myself," Claire continued. "But yeah… I guess I could try."

"That's great!" Hope grinned widely, unable to hide his excitement. "So it's a deal, then?"

"I guess it is," Claire said, giving him her classic almost-smile.

When Hope parked outside Claire's apartment, they'd spent several minutes in comfortable silence. Hope usually felt like he had to keep a conversation going at all times, but with Claire he could somehow relax. With her, he could be alone without being lonely, and he really enjoyed it.

"I really need to remove those stitches soon," he said as Claire climbed out of the car.

"I've already removed them," Claire answered proudly.

"Wait, what?" Hope furrowed his brow. "How?"

Claire shrugged. "Google and scissors."

Hope groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're impossible."

"A little," she said, a glimmer of mischievousness flashing in her eyes.

Hope sighed and shook his head. "If you need help-"

"… I'll call. I promise."

"Really?" Hope looked at her skeptically.

Claire nodded. "We're partners now, Hope. That's what partners do."

_Partners. _The word kept repeating itself over and over in Hope's mind. He'd asked for symbiosis, and had gotten partnership. Hours earlier, he would have said that the two were the same thing, but now he knew better. Partnership was something more, something deeper.

Hope hummed to himself as he drove home. His thumb hurt, and the night he'd had could probably qualify as a traumatic experience, but he was still in an unexpectedly good mood.

_Partners, _he thought, smiling to himself. _Partners. _


	6. Chapter 6

"So, the thing is… I'm competing in this tournament. I don't know that much about it yet, because Dysley is the one who sets up fights for me. Dysley is like my, I don't know, manager? Anyway, my first fight is next Saturday, and I thought you'd probably like to know – Tiny, where the fuck are you going?"

Tiny, who'd just made a weak attempt to escape from Claire's lap, glared angrily at Claire before settling down on her thighs again. Claire sighed, absentmindedly stroking Tiny's black fur. She'd been sitting on the bench outside the apartment building for over half an hour and she still hadn't figured out a good way to tell Hope about the tournament.

"You're a lousy practice partner," she said to the cat. "It isn't really your fault – I mean, you're a cat and all – but you really do suck at pretending to be Hope."

A week had gone by since she and Hope became partners. She knew she had to tell Hope about the tournament sooner or later, but she also knew that Hope would undoubtedly freak out. _We're partners now, Hope,_ she'd said, and she'd really meant it – but trusting people wasn't exactly her forte. She knew that if she told Hope about the tournament he would most likely start asking the _how_ and _why_ questions, and she was light-years away from being ready for that. She'd been seriously considering to "accidentally forget" telling him, but she somehow couldn't bring herself to do that either. When Claire had called him her partner, he'd looked so happy, and if she'd go behind his back on something as major as a fighting tournament she knew he'd take it personally. _How the hell did my life become this complicated? _she thought, sighing again.

Claire could hear the sound of heavy footsteps and loud, strained breaths coming from the other side of the hedge. Tiny escaped from Claire's lap and hurried inside the bushes, seeking shelter from the slowly approaching stranger.

"How's it going?" Claire shouted, trying not to smirk.

When Hope finally staggered through the narrow gap in the hedge, he looked like he was about to throw up. His face was flushed, his black tank top was drenched in sweat and his legs were barely holding him up. Claire was pleasantly surprised; she'd never thought the doctor had it in him to push himself to his limits like that.

"Time?" Hope panted, collapsing next to her on the bench.

Claire checked her wristwatch. "35 minutes."

"Seriously?" Hope threw his head back and groaned. "Two minutes less than last time. Just two shitty little minutes."

"How fast did you think you'd improve?" Claire cocked an eyebrow, trying hard to hide her amusement. She'd started to realize why Hope's hair looked so meticulously styled all the time – as soon as his hair came in contact with any form of humidity, it turned into a porcupine-like mess. His habit of running his fingers through his hair every time he got lost in thoughts only made things worse, causing strands of hair to point in every direction.

"I don't know," Hope sighed. "I don't think I'll ever get it down to 25 minutes. Is this really necessary?"

"Five kilometers, 25 minutes, that's the deal. I don't know what I could teach you otherwise. I win fights by being faster than the opponent and by tiring them out, and that's the only fighting style I know. I've always been smaller and weaker than my opponents, so I've learned to compensate for it. Right now, I don't think you're that much stronger than me, so my way of fighting should work for you, too. For this to work, you need good endurance, that's just how it is."

"Alright, alright," Hope said, scowling at Claire. "I know I'm weak, you don't have to rub it in."

Claire snorted. "I just admitted that you _might _be physically stronger than me, and that's how you react. Dick."

"Yeah, but you're a…" Hope froze in place, and Claire could see the exact moment he realized that there was no possible way to end the sentence without fucking up majorly.

"I'm a…?" Claire concealed her amusement by sounding insulted, which made Hope even more flustered.

"You're a… small," Hope finally finished, looking at her dejectedly.

"A small." Claire could no longer stop the smile from reaching her lips, something Hope immediately caught.

"You're teasing me," he stated with a frown.

"You make it so easy," Claire said, shaking her head. "How the hell did you ever get through high school?"

Hope shrugged. "I went to Eden High. People were actually pretty nice there."

_Eden, _Claire thought. _OF course. _Eden was a private school located right outside the city, with tuition fees higher than Claire's yearly income. She herself had attended the local public school, where everyone had despised the spoilt Eden kids. _I'm hanging out with an Eden kid, _she thought in disbelief. _I'm actually hanging out with an Eden kid. _

"I'll get going now," Hope the Eden kid said, groaning as he forced his body to get up from the bench. "I'm in desperate need of a shower. See you on Monday?"

Claire nodded. Hope smiled, and then started walking towards his car.

"Hope, wait," Claire said. "I…"

"Yeah?"

When Hope turned around to look at her, all of Claire's courage disappeared in an instant. "Don't forget to stretch."

"I won't," Hope answered, and then he was gone.

Claire didn't know why she had such a hard time telling him about the tournament. She'd tried to tell him several times now, but for some unexplainable reason the words just wouldn't come out.

"Damn it," she sighed, burying her face in her hands. "I'm the worst partner ever."

Hope was sitting in his favorite armchair with a cup of tea and the latest Dan Brown novel when someone rang the doorbell. He remained still for a moment, seriously considering to just ignore it and wait for the unexpected visitor to go away. His whole body hurt, and his legs still wobbled a little when he walked.

"Please go away," he muttered, sipping his tea. A few seconds later, the doorbell rang again. The visitor turned out to be very persistent, ringing the doorbell again and again every five seconds. Hope groaned, his body protesting wildly as he got up from the armchair. He had no idea why anyone would visit him at half past eight on a Saturday night, and he wasn't too keen on finding it out either.

"What?" he said sourly, opening the door. He stared at his visitor in confusion. "Noel?"

"Sup," Noel said, giving Hope a short upwards nod. He was wearing his usual outfit; a pair of worn-out blue jeans and a black t-shirt. In Hope's opinion, the autumn air had grown way too cold for an outfit like that, but Noel didn't seem to care.

"Hi…?" Hope said quizzically.

Noel grinned. "Wanna go watch a fight? There's a really good one taking place in about an hour. It's just outside the city. What do you say?"

"I don't know…" Hope looked around, feeling like something was missing. "I… Hey, where's your motorcycle?"

"At the mechanic's. Something's up with the carburetor, and when I tried to fix it I just fucked it up even worse."

"So, the real reason you're here is because you want a ride," Hope said, glad that things had started to make sense again.

Noel tried to keep his poker face up for a few moments, but then he just gave up. "I really, _really _want to see this fight, okay?" he said in a low voice. "It's the first fight of the tournament. I can't miss it."

"The tournament?" Hope looked back on the fight on the parking lot outside Bodhum, and was fairly certain someone had mentioned something about a tournament then, too.

"Yeah. It's a tournament for mixed martial arts. They've built up a whole new arena for it and everything. It's a huge thing and you don't want to miss it, trust me. Are you in, yes or no?"

"I'm in," Hope answered, grabbing his coat. He'd been away from action for a week, and he was already missing it. His week had been ordinary, and before he met Claire he wouldn't have thought twice about it. Now, his ordinary week was somehow no longer enough. Running with Claire wasn't enough – he needed _more_.

"How come I haven't even heard of this?" Hope asked Noel as they walked towards Hope's car.

Noel's grin widened. "It's not exactly legal."

The arena was situated right outside the city, just like Noel said. On the outside, the place looked like a normal pizzeria. On the inside, the place looked like a pizzeria too.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Hope whispered to Noel.

"Yes. Shut up," Noel hissed. They were waiting in line to get to the pay desk, which looked exactly like a normal pizzeria pay desk.

"Two specials," Noel said to the cashier, who just pointed at a door right next to them.

"Really? That's the code word?" Hope whispered skeptically, following Noel through the door and down the stairs hidden behind it.

"Shut up," Noel repeated, glaring at Hope.

Hope could already hear the loud music coming from the basement, the deep bass pounding on his eardrums. The further down the stairs they got, the more the smell of garlic and oregano changed into the smell of sweat and alcohol.

When they reached the end of the stairs there were no longer any doubts that the pizzeria was in fact a gate to an underground fighting arena. The basement was big, a lot bigger than the parking garage they'd been to the last time they went to a fight. There were also about ten times as many people, and people were about ten times as drunk. The place was a total chaos.

"Welcome to Orphan's Cradle," Noel said with a smirk, pushing them further into the crowd. The arena itself was placed on an elevated platform in the middle of the room. Right above it hung a digital sign with a reset timer, the zeroes glowing bright red in the dim room.

"The rounds are five minutes long, then the fighters get a one minute break, and then it's on again. They rarely last that long, though," Noel explained by yelling into Hope's ear. The noise around them was deafening, even though the fight hadn't even started yet. "This is gonna be so fucking awesome. Come on, Estheim, we need a beer."

The bar was in the corner of the basement, and Noel had to use a lot of brute force to get them there. They had just received their drinks when a petite blue-haired girl stumbled into Noel, who automatically wrapped a steadying arm around her waist.

"Hi Noel!" the girl said with a smile.

"Hi Yeul," Noel answered, smiling back at her. His face had softened the moment he'd laid eyes on her, and his hand was still resting on her hip. _He's in love with her, _Hope realized, and grinning widely.

"If you're going to bet, bet on the Mangle," Yeul said to Noel.

"No bets today. I'm here with a friend." Noel nodded at Hope, his gaze never leaving the girl.

"I see." Yeul looked at Hope and reached out her hand. "I'm Yeul. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Hope. Likewise." Hope shook her hand, and couldn't help but notice the cannula taped to the back of her hand. Her wrists were dangerously thin, and up close Hope could definitely tell that there was something wrong with the girl.

"I need to get back to Caius. Call me, okay?" Yeul turned around and started staggering through the crowd. She stumbled again, but this time a purple-haired man caught her before Noel could get to her. The man glared at Noel while he led Yeul to a chair placed next to the bar, keeping a protective arm around her shoulders.

"Fucking Caius," Noel muttered, glaring back.

"Who are they?" Hope asked curiously.

"That's Yeul, also known as the Seeress," Noel explained. "She always knows how to bet to get the most money out of it. I think it's a math thing, but others think she's a clairvoyant or something. That guy over there is Caius, her guardian. Yeul, she's… She's sick. Leukemia. Her parents are always out of town, and they've hired Caius to keep an eye on her. Can you believe it? Their daughter has cancer, and they still prioritize their work." Noel made a disgusted face. "She began going to fights like this to piss them off, but they didn't even care. As long as she brings Caius, she can do whatever she wants. Oh, and Caius is an overprotective, pretentious asshole."

"You seem to know a lot about her," Hope commented, sipping his beer. Noel had already downed his long ago, so Hope guessed Noel had just assumed he would be the designated driver. _I shouldn't be drinking at all, _Hope thought, frowning as he put down the almost full glass on a nearby table. _Noel really is a bad influence. _

"Yeah… I really like her," Noel finally admitted after a moment of silence. "She turns 18 in three months, and then I'm… I think I'm gonna ask her out."

"That's great," Hope said with a smile. "I hope things work out for you two."

Noel was just about to say something when the music suddenly stopped. "It's time," he yelled instead, cheering with the rest of the crowd. Two muscular men were now standing in opposite corners of the octagon-shaped ring, and between them stood the judge; a small guy dressed in a black and white shirt.

"Gentlemen, you've been given your instructions. I expect a somewhat clean fight, alright? Obey my commands at all times. Defend yourselves at all times. Let's do this."

The judge swiftly jumped out of the way as the men began assaulting each other. They were a lot more skilled than the fighters Hope had watched at the Octagon, and the fight lasted for considerably longer. After two and a half rounds, one of the men managed to get a good grip around the other's neck. They were both down on the mat, the strangled one flailing his limbs around helplessly. After a while, he stopped moving, and the judge forced the winner away from his unconscious opponent.

"Let's all greet tonight's champion: The Mangle!" the judge shouted in his microphone, and the audience hollered with him. Hope could feel the adrenaline pump through him, his heart pounding hard in his chest. This was the kind of excitement he'd been searching for. This was what he'd missed. He howled with the crowd, sharing their emotions, connecting with every single one of them.

"And who will the Mangle meet in the quarter finals?" the judge continued. "Next week's fight is something you _really _don't want to miss – The Bear; stronger, larger more vicious than his namesake, versus this tournament's only female contestant; the strong, the fierce, the beautiful – Lightning!"

The audience continued to cheer, but Hope no longer shared their joy. He just stood there, staring into nothingness. He knew he hadn't misheard the judge, but he still couldn't process it. _Claire's in the tournament? She's in the fucking tournament? _He felt deceived and betrayed, and even a little bit surprised. When Claire had called them partners, he'd actually believed her. He'd truly believed she would tell him about upcoming fights and let him help her with the aftercare. He'd thought they'd had an agreement. _Had she really seen me as her partner, she would have told me, _Hope thought, feeling something break inside him. _She never even said a word. _

"Partners," Hope muttered, pushing out of his way as he angrily strode towards the exit. "I can't believe I fell for that one."

With adrenaline still pumping through his veins, Hope made a decision: He was going to give Claire a visit, and he was going to get some answers.


	7. Chapter 7

When Claire entered her apartment after the training session with Hope, she was in an awful mood. She'd failed to tell him about the tournament once again, and it was now only a week until her first fight. _I'm the worst partner ever, _she thought, furious with herself.

She was so busy pondering her failure, she almost missed the note on the kitchen table.

_Out on a demonstration with Snow and the NORA gang. Don't wait up.  
- Serah _

Claire groaned, crumpling the piece of paper in her hand. Serah had been dating her good-for-nothing boyfriend Snow for over half a year now, and lately she'd started joining him on the demonstrations he and his friends kept holding. The demonstrations were for good causes, like anti-racism and anti-capitalism, but they almost always turned violent sooner or later. The members of NORA, an acronym for "No Obligations, Rules, or Authority", were infamous for their ability to piss people off and the fights they all kept getting into because of it. The thought of Serah being in the middle of it made Claire want to punch something – preferably Snow's face. Snow didn't even seem to realize the danger he was exposing Serah to.

"'Don't wait up'," Claire muttered, tossing the wrinkled note in the garbage can. "Like I could possibly sleep when you're hanging out with _them._"

Claire spent the rest of the evening cleaning the apartment. She and Serah had always had a deal – Serah cooked, Claire cleaned. The division worked well, since Serah was a much better cook than Claire and Claire liked to use cleaning as a way of handling stress. It was a bit like running; a methodical activity she could do without thinking.

A little after half past eleven, Claire heard the sound of keys in the door lock. She turned off the vacuum cleaner and watched Serah hurry inside the apartment. Her blue coat had new stains on its fabric, her hair was disheveled and her mascara had become dark smudges under her eyes – all signs of the participation of another demonstration turned violent. Claire really, _really _felt like punching Snow in the face.

"Sis!" Serah shouted, practically bouncing with excitement. "I have something I need to tell you – something great!"

"Okay…?" Claire said hesitantly. Even though she liked seeing her sister happy, she was still skeptical when the happiness seemed to have something to do with Snow. _Please don't be pregnant, _she thought, faking a smile for Serah.

"You should probably sit down first," Serah said, a hint of nervousness hidden within the joy.

"I'm not an old lady," Claire scoffed, leaning demonstratively against the wall. "I think my nerves can take it."

Serah nodded and took a deep breath. "Don't overreact, okay?"

"I'm not promising anything," Claire said, looking at her sister with growing suspicion. "Just tell me already." _Please, please, please don't be pregnant. _

Serah smiled, lifting her left hand. "Snow just proposed to me. Sis, I'm getting married!"

Claire froze in place, staring at the brand new ring on Serah's finger. "You're… you're what?"

"Getting married. I love him, Claire. I want to spend the rest of my life with him." Serah looked at her expectantly, waiting for Claire's reaction.

Claire kept staring at the ring. It was made of silvery material, presumably white gold or platinum, with one larger diamond-like gem surrounded by two smaller on the side. It looked expensive, and was definitely not a last-minute purchase.

"You're not pregnant, are you?" Claire asked anyway, because she just couldn't fathom why her intelligent, ambitious sister would like to spend the rest of her life with someone like Snow.

"No, of course not," Serah said with a frown. "Why would I be pregnant?"

"I don't know, I… Serah, are you really sure about this? You've only been dating for six months-"

"I'm sure," Serah interrupted. "He's _the one_, sis. I've never been more sure in my whole life."

"How could you possibly know that?" Claire exclaimed. "You're 18, Serah! You've got your whole life ahead of you – why would you want to waste it on someone like him?"

Claire regretted the harsh words the moment they left her mouth. Serah looked down on the ground, her eyes filling up with tears.

"I'm sorry, Serah, I didn't mean it like tha-"

"But you did mean it. You've never even given him a chance. I'm in love with 'someone like him'. I guess that means I'm 'someone like him', too, doesn't it?" Serah let out a humorless laugh. "No, don't answer that, it was a rhetorical question. How could you possibly know? You've never been in love."

The words stung, but Claire knew Serah was right. She'd never understood love songs or chic flicks, and she'd never been truly in love with someone. Claire bit her lip, trying to hide the fact that Serah's words had really hurt her.

Serah sighed, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. "I know you only want to protect me, but I'm an adult now. You have to let me live my own life. I love you, sis, but I think I'm gonna stay at Snow's place tonight."

Serah turned around and hurried out the door, slamming it shut behind her. Claire stared at the closed door for a few moments, hesitating whether or not to follow her. She was hurt, but she knew Serah was hurt too. _Fuck it, _she thought, making the decision to run after her sister.

"Serah, wait!" Claire shouted, sprinting down the stairs. She'd just reached the ground floor when she almost ran straight into someone.

"Sorry," she mumbled, trying to move past the person blocking her way.

"Claire, I need to talk to you."

Claire looked up and noticed that the person in front of her was in fact Hope Estheim. For a moment, Claire hadn't even recognized him. Instead of his usual calm, professional aura, he was now giving off an almost dangerous vibe. He was clenching his jaw, and his eyes were hard and cold. Even his smell was different; instead of the usual earl gray aroma he reeked of sweat, smoke and alcohol.

"Not now, Hope," she said, pushing past him. Serah had just disappeared around a corner outside the building, presumably heading towards wherever Snow had parked his motorcycle.

"Yes, now," Hope growled, grabbing Claire's wrist. Claire's body moved on instinct, just like it had that time Hope had tried to grab her in the examination room in the hospital basement – but this time, Hope saw it coming. When Claire spun around to shove him into the wall, he dodged her and reversed their positions. Before Claire could adjust, her back had already hit the wall. Hope kept his manacle-like grip on her wrist and placed his other hand right next to her head, effectively caging her against the wall.

"This is not a good time," Claire said, panic and anger rising inside her. Her chances of catching up with Serah were decreasing with every passing second. She tried to push Hope away with her free hand, but without any leverage she didn't have much to offer in the strength department.

"Move," she said with a murderous glare, praying that Hope wouldn't notice how close to tears she actually was.

"The tournament, Claire," Hope said, ignoring her words and feeble attempts for escape. "Were you ever going to tell me about it?"

Claire's eyes widened in shock. "Who told you?"

"'Partners', huh?" Hope continued, ignoring her again. "Was that your plan all along? Letting me think we were on the same page so I'd leave you alone?" His grip around her wrist tightened enough for it to hurt. "I _trusted _you, Claire. I actually trusted you. Was that a part of your plan, too?"

"No, I…" Claire heard the rumbling of a motorcycle engine, and knew that her shot of catching Serah was now gone. She sagged against the wall, no longer struggling to get away. "I wanted to tell you," she said, her body trembling almost as much as her voice. "I just… I just couldn't. I fucked up. That's what I do; I fuck things up. I'm sorry."

"What do you mean, 'couldn't'? How hard could it…" Hope paused in the middle of the sentence, his expression suddenly softening. "Claire, are you crying?"

"No, I'm not," Claire lied, even though the truth was embarrassingly obvious. She removed her free hand from Hope's chest and used it to cover her eyes. "Don't look at me."

Hope sighed and let go of her wrist. Claire interpreted his action as a sign that she was free to go and began to move away from him, but Hope had other plans. Instead of backing off, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a tight embrace.

"… What the fuck, Hope," Claire said, stiffening against his chest.

"You're crying, so I'm holding you," Hope said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I don't do hugs," Claire muttered.

"Just humor me."

Claire nodded, hiding her face in his white coat. She really wasn't the hugging type, but it was better than the alternative. If she stayed in Hope's arms, she could at least hide the tears – though it didn't change the fact that she was mortified beyond belief over her lack of self-control. She cried silently, leaning against him as she rode out her emotional storm.

"It's okay," Hope said, stroking her back. "Everything will be okay."

Claire snorted, slowly getting her emotions back under control. "For someone your age, you're really damn naïve."

The hand on her back abruptly stopped its soothing movement. "Someone my age? How old do you think I am?"

"35 maybe?" Claire said nonchalantly.

"35?" Hope grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away from him, staring at her in disbelief. "I'm 27!"

Claire swiftly wiped away the last traces of her tears from her cheeks and smiled. "I know, idiot. You told me that ages ago."

"Then why would you… You're teasing me again," Hope said with a frown, letting go of her shoulders.

Claire shrugged. Even though she'd never admit it out loud, the hug had actually helped. Her argument with Serah still felt like a slowly rotating knife in her chest, but she had at least calmed down a bit. She would talk to Serah later when they'd both cooled down a little. They'd had arguments before, and they always made up again sooner or later. Claire shuddered, thinking about the cause of the fight. _Snow would become my brother-in-law, _she thought, feeling slightly nauseous.

"Are you alright?" Hope asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Claire shrugged gain. She was still a little pissed off at Hope for stopping her like that, but she couldn't really blame him for being mad at her. After all, she was pretty mad at herself, too.

"I'm really sorry for not telling you about the tournament," she said, looking down on the ground. "I… I'm not good at trusting people. I'm pretty bad at talking to people I trust, too. I fuck up. That's what I do. I'm sorry." She looked up, hoping her eyes would portray her honesty better than her words. She'd never been good with words, especially not when they really mattered. _Please, believe me, _she thought, looking into his eyes.

Hope sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "It's okay. I'm sorry too. I don't know what got into me… I didn't hurt you, did I? Give me your wrist," he ordered, and Claire would have objected just as a matter of principle if she hadn't noticed the hint of panic in his voice.

"You're not that strong," she scoffed, allowing Hope to examine her. He rolled up the sleeve of her hoodie and looked at the wrist in his usual meticulous manner, checking it for any sort of injury. When he'd made sure the wrist was fine, he let out a relieved sigh. His fingers lingered on the scar on her forearm that had brought them both together, tracing the still visible pattern of her homemade stitches on her skin.

"I wish I knew why," he said, still holding her wrist gently in his hands. "Why you do this to yourself. Why you let them hurt you like this."

_There it is, _Claire thought, her body tensing up._ The 'how's and the 'why's. _

"You don't have to answer me," Hope quickly added. "Not now, at least. Someday."

Claire bit her lip, making a decision. "I… I could try," she said, reluctantly forcing the words out of her mouth. "Like, right now." _Before I change my mind. _

"Really?" Hope's face lit up with excitement.

Claire nodded. "Would you like some tea?"

* * *

When Hope had left Orphan's Cradle, he hadn't really had any plans on how to confront Claire. He'd acted on pure anger and feelings of betrayal. Unconsciously, he'd probably expected Claire to get mad at him and try to escape if he'd confront her, perhaps after giving him a punch or two. Holding Claire while she cried and then ending up on a chair in her kitchen – that had definitely been an unexpected turn of events.

He watched as Claire boiled water in a saucepan on the stove, pleasantly surprised that she didn't make tea in the microwave like many of his acquaintances.

"Where's Serah?" he asked, and immediately regretted the question. He'd almost run into Serah outside the building, and now realized that Claire had probably tried to catch up with her. _Before I stopped her, that is, _he thought, feeling like a total douchebag.

"She's at with her boyfriend… No, _fiancé. _Apparently, she's getting married." Claire's voice was calm and even, but the way she slammed the pantry door shut spoke louder than her words.

"She's just 18," she continued, pouring the hot water into two large cups, already prepared with tea balls filled with loose-leaf earl grey. "He's 21, doesn't have a job and thinks he's a fucking hero for starting fights at demonstrations. I don't know what she sees in him. Milk, no sugar, right?"

Hope nodded, frowning a little. Serah's fiancé sounded like one of those daredevil jerks he often had to treat at work. He knew the type; guys in their teens or younger twenties who just wouldn't stop getting themselves hurt. They all seemed to share a grand delusion that they were actually making a difference. Most of the time, all they did was taking up space at hospitals at the expense of other patients; patients that hadn't actively searched for danger.

"Was that what you were fighting about?" he asked, trying to remain neutral.

Claire nodded. She placed the cups on the kitchen table and took a seat, curling up on the chair with her knees against her chest.

"So," she said, taking a small sip from her tea. "What do you want to know?"

_Everything. _"Why you fight, maybe?" he said, trying to avoid sounding too pushy. "Perhaps how it all began?"

"Of course," Claire sighed, not at all surprised over his choice of questions. She took another sip of her tea, her inner struggle clearly visible on her face.

"It's okay if you don't-"

"No, it's fine, I can do this," Claire interrupted. She nodded to herself, gathering her strength.

"I guess you could say it all began when my father died. I was young, really young, so I barely remember him. My mother… She really loved my dad. She tried to take care of me and Serah, I know she did, but she really had a hard time after he died. She…"

Claire bit her lip, trying to get the words out. It was painful to watch, but Hope knew that if he stopped her now, he'd never get to hear her story. He remained silent, watching her take a deep breath before she could continue.

"She started drinking and gambling. At first, I didn't even notice it, but then it kinda took over everything. I don't even know what she gambled on, but she really was addicted to it. She got fired from her work, and everything just went downhill from there. Five years ago, I found her lying on the floor in the bathroom. She'd mixed something with the alcohol, some sleeping pills, and her heart had just stopped. I still don't know if it was an accident, or if she just… If she just wanted a way out."

"I'm sorry," Hope said, trying to take it all in. _Five years ago… She was just 15. _"I'm so sorry."

"Yeah… It was rough. She left us in a lot of debts, debts I couldn't possibly repay with just a part-time job. I've always been good at fighting; I went to a normal high school, and in normal high schools people with alcoholic mothers aren't exactly popular. Dysley, one of the persons my mom was in debt to, found out about this. He told me he'd take care of all her other debts and some of my bills if I started fighting for him. So I did. I did it to make sure Serah wouldn't have to worry about money like I did when I was her age – that she would get to actually be a kid. If I had to do it all again, I would. I don't regret it."

Claire held her head up high, speaking with pride and dignity. She looked at Hope with fire in her eyes, as if daring him to pity her or question her decision.

"You were just 15," Hope said, truly perplexed. "I was just a spoiled brat when I was 15. I don't think I could have ever brought myself to do something like that. You… you really would do anything for her."

"There were never really any other alternatives. It was the only way I could protect her. You know, sometimes it's not really a matter of _can _or _can't_. Some things in life you just do." Claire gave him one of her almost-smiles, her posture still portraying a sense of calm self-confidence. _She really is beautiful,_ Hope thought, rendered completely speechless.

"So yeah… I guess that's it. I fight whenever and wherever Dysley wants me to fight, and now he wants me to be in the tournament. I haven't really thought that much about it," Claire said with a shrug and badly faked nonchalance. Hope knew her well enough by now to tell that she was nervous.

"I'll be there," he said determinately. "When you fight. Before, during and afterwards. I don't like it at all, but I know I can't stop you. I'll be your own, personal medic."

Claire looked at him skeptically. "Why? What's in it for you?"

"Why do you always question everything?" Hope countered, raising an eyebrow.

Claire opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She furrowed her brow, glaring a little at him for turning the conversation around.

"… I don't know," she finally admitted, annoyance written on her face.

Hope grinned. Then, he remembered one of the questions he'd planned on asking her; one of the most important ones. "When will you stop?" he asked, looking at her intently. "You can't do this forever. I wasn't lying when I said your injuries kept getting worse. Do you have a way out?"

Claire shrugged, avoiding his gaze.

"What if something happened?" Hope said before he could stop himself. "What if it got even worse? What if-"

Hope was interrupted by a loud ping coming from his pocket, signaling a new text message on his cellphone. He pulled it out and checked the display. _Oh shit, _he thought, opening the message from Noel.

_U left without me u dickhead, _the message read.

"Oh fuck," Hope groaned, knocking back the last of his tea. "I need to go. I was at Orphan's Cradle with a friend and I forgot to drive him home."

Claire nodded, looking relieved.

"This conversation is not over," Hope added, grabbing his coat from its hanger.

Claire nodded again.

Before hurrying out the door, Hope stopped and gave her a smile. "I really do appreciate everything you told me, Claire. It means a lot to me. Thank you."

"That's a weird thing to thank someone for," Claire commented, looking slightly amused. "But you're welcome, I guess."

Hope nodded, reluctantly leaving the apartment. Somehow, he seemed to feel more at home in the Farron sisters' small apartment than in his own house. He really would have liked to stay a bit longer, but he knew he couldn't just leave Noel like that. He was selfish, but not _that _selfish.

"Good night, Claire," he said, turning his back on her and heading towards the stairs.

"Good night, partner," Claire answered before closing the door behind him.

Hope smiled, the word once again spreading warmth within him. He now knew for sure that she actually meant it, and that their relationship had finally taken a step in the right direction.


End file.
